


Seize Our Scrap

by shutterbug



Category: Ripper Street
Genre: Canon Compliant, Episode Related, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Male Friendship, Missing Scene, post-episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 04:32:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16401368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shutterbug/pseuds/shutterbug
Summary: Jackson tries to badger some sense into Reid.Post-"Dynamite and the Woman" (S2E4)So many heartfelt thanks to my wonderful beta-reader,GrumpyQueer. I'm so grateful, truly. You're the best.





	Seize Our Scrap

The moment Edmund stepped inside his office, Jackson cornered him.

Edmund faced his stalker and walked backwards, his right hand spread open, guiding him along the edge of his desk. He refused to blink as his eyes fixed upon Jackson, whose words assaulted him before he had even reached his chair.

“Reid, I’ve had many an occasion to ask this, but none more compelling than today.” Jackson’s eyes pierced him with contempt as he threw the door closed. The blinds shuddered. “Have you taken com _plete_ leave of your _senses_?”

Edmund stared at him, paralyzed, and thankful that he stood guarded behind his desk. “I--” He gripped the back of his chair and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Not last I checked, no.”

Jackson advanced to mirror his posture--hands clenching the back of a chair, elbows locked, back rigid. “You sent her away.”

Edmund exhaled through his nose and concentrated his attention on Jackson’s face. The frustration in his eyes. The hard set of his jaw. His creased forehead. He absorbed every detail in an effort to displace the images that threatened to further invade his mind, recollecting the eager hope in Jane’s soft, playful features. Her easy smile. Her bright, clear eyes. Then all of it--because of him--replaced with severe disappointment.

The center of his chest burned with regret. With loss, perhaps--he did not know.

But leave it to Jackson to stoke the fire.

When Edmund replied, he spoke through clenched teeth. “I’m afraid I don’t know who you are--”

“Oh, don’t feign ignorance, Reid. It doesn’t suit you.” Jackson’s posture relaxed as he pushed himself away from the chair, then rounded the desk to help himself to a tumbler of whiskey. When he swallowed a mouthful, his face wrinkled with a grimace. “You really need to buy better stuff, you know that?”

Edmund released a soft sigh, then slid his chair away from his desk and sat down, his body heavy and clumsy. Not quite himself.

A quiet, liquid trickle sounded over his shoulder. Jackson appeared at his side a moment later. “Here, he said, depositing a half-glass of whiskey on top of a splay of papers--records, maps, _evidence_ , all beyond Jackson’s care or notice.

After refilling his own glass, Jackson took the seat opposite him. Edmund watched him as he swirled the whiskey in his glass, leaned back as he drank, then met his eyes to address him directly. “When I said you looked right together, I meant it.”

Edmund wrapped his fingers around his glass. He took a sip, and closed his eyes as the vapor of the whiskey stung the back of his throat, the back of his nose. He downed another drink--a larger one--before he responded, his voice low and quiet. “I know.”

“But you--” Jackson swallowed another mouthful. “You stop yourself.”

“I have obligations,” he said, his lips still wet with whiskey.

“Obligations.” Jackson’s tone mocked him, dismissed him.

“Yes,” he said, setting his glass down hard on the desk. His body stiffened with defensiveness. He straightened up in his chair, squared his shoulders, and repeated himself. “Obligations.”

“And do you not _think_ , Reid, that you have an obligation to your _self_?”

“Yes, Jackson, I do,” he said, sending his chair toward the wall as he stood. “An obligation to maintain some semblance of my own in _teg_ rity and fidelity to my _wife_ , for my _own_ sake, for my own _cons_ cience, yes!” His breath raced in and out of him. He stood as tall as he could, made himself as large as possible.

Neither his tone nor his stance seemed to deter Jackson, but he was hardly surprised. “A wife,” Jackson said, “that has been driven so _mad_ she lives only within her own _head_? Rumor has it that, on your last visit, she refused to turn her eyes toward you, refused to even acknowledge you.”

“Jackson--”

“Perhaps you, too, should consider turning your eyes elsewhere.”

“You go too _far_ , Captain.”

“And you don’t go far e _nough_!” When Jackson stood, his chair toppled to the floor. “You dare to dip your toe in the water of happiness, but you hold yourself back with rationales of obli _ga_ tions and _hon_ or.” He slapped both hands on the desk. “And you hurt yourself--but not _just_ yourself. You could make her--” Jackson’s chin dropped to his chest. He shook his head before he raised his eyes again. “You could make Jane happy, Reid.”

“You…” Edmund stepped around the corner of his desk and made for the door. “I demand you leave this office.”

But before he could reach the doorknob, Jackson lunged and threw his chair into Edmund's path. Edmund collided with it, knees on wood, and stumbled as he inhaled sharply.

“ _No_ ,” Jackson said, low and quiet, taking advantage of Edmund’s brief incapacitation. Jackson steadied him--froze him--with a grip on his forearm. “No, I’m going to stay. And you’re going to listen. You take this chance. _Take_ it. She wants to _be_ with you. That’s plain to anyone who’s ever looked upon the two of you. And in this hellscape of a world, we need to seize our scrap of heaven whenever it shows itself. Before it disappears forever.”

As suddenly as he had trapped him, Jackson released him and stormed from his office. Edmund leaned against the chair, alone but for the echoes of voices--Jackson’s, Jane’s, his own--with no way to silence them.


End file.
